


Shutter

by Bucksbegins



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: It cheeky Leorio, M/M, Model AU, and rude kurapika hours, g for now, it’s the, probably background killugon at some point, until I figure out what the next chapters are going to be, you’ve all be waiting for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26872714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bucksbegins/pseuds/Bucksbegins
Summary: When Kurapika debuted as a model, he accepted that his life would be full of demanding photographers, controlling designers, and fastidious stylists.What he didn’t anticipate, was an inconvenient photoshoot and an unwelcome colleague who seems to have a penitent for putting him in a bad mood and the wherewithal to get him out.
Relationships: Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	Shutter

**Author's Note:**

> For Shira, Nix, Nico, and my other enablers on discord

Kurapika was having a bad day.

It wasn’t due to the fact that he had been roused and shuffled from his hotel room at 4 in the morning to ensure he was at the venue and in the makeup chair before their call time at 6.

No, this type of schedule had become second nature to him since he began modeling professionally the year before. He’d gotten used to being poked and prodded by makeup brushes and hair straighteners before the sun came up.

That wasn’t the reason this was a bad day.

It also wasn’t because his manager (the industry-renowned, blessedly soft-spoken Melody) had thrown a wrench in the winter getaway he had planned for Christmas. His serene ski chalet vacation was being forfeited for what Melody assured him was a “once in a lifetime” opportunity to model Nostrade’s summer campaign with a handful of other hand-selected models.

It was a great opportunity, he knew that, but there was something disheartening about swapping a week of sipping mulled wine and diving into his reading list with a week of the same high-strung chaos he dealt with on a regular basis. He’d had time on the car ride over to bite down the disappointment of his canceled holiday and remind himself that he was one of the few models at Kurta Agency getting offers like this so early in his career.

No, these things were all minor inconveniences that made him sigh but carry on towards the task at hand.

None of this could come close to the annoyance the gripped his shoulders when, at 5:40, a natural disaster in human form swept into the studio, throwing the normal pre-shoot chaos into actual, heart-pounding pandemonium.

His espresso was done, they had finished his natural, dewy makeup look 10 minutes before, and he had been content to sit in his chair and reach a complete state of zen before they unpinned his bangs and took him to the wardrobe to be outfitted.

Instead, Kurapika found himself hunched in his makeup chair, eyes fixed aggressively at his phone screen in an attempt to block out the commotion behind him, to no avail. It was all too loud, too urgent for 6 in the morning. He felt like he was fighting just to keep his eyes from flicking into the mirror or over his shoulder to send a flat look at the perpetrators.

“Looks like the last model is here.” Melody’s airy voice alerted from his right as she swept up with her file folder and phone, poised to send an email at a moment’s notice.

Kurapika allowed himself to release the exasperated sigh he had been holding in, his thumb scrolling through his twitter feed absentmindedly, “Who is it, anyway?”

They had met the two girls who’d be also be featured in the shoot a half an hour before. Kurapika had swapped hair for makeup and they’d left to be spritzed and styled for the humidity they were expecting once they got into the closed garden of their shoot.

Melody’s papers shuffled at his question, “I don’t think he’s from our agency… Hold on, I think I remember his name, L-L-, _‘L’_ something or other...”

Kurapika felt that prickle of annoyance on the back of his neck as he shifted to peer at the folder in Melody’s hands, eyes roving the call sheet for the name he dreaded to see.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kurapika said through gritted teeth when he found the name.

“Ah, here it is.” Melody sighed, “Leorio-“

“Good morning!”

Too loud, too urgent, too _friendly_.

Kurapika lifted his head with a breath to steel himself. He leveled a cool, you-do-know-it’s-6-in-the-morning look up at the man gripping the back of the makeup chair next to him, only to find an eager, open expression reflected back at him.

“Good morning,” Kurapika replied, satisfied by how clipped his words sounded as the production team descended on them.

He didn’t have a good impression of Leorio Paradinight, but it wasn’t his fault. The two of them had never been formally introduced, but their debut had been within weeks of each other - he at Kurta Agency, and Leorio at Hunter Models.

They’d only ever crossed paths when they were both still in development, often at open-calls for male-led campaigns. Kurapika had learned quickly that most companies were looking to sell men’s clothing in a way that said “look at me, I’m a pillar of masculinity and strength, watch my broad shoulders fill out this suit” which Leorio’s image encapsulated much better than Kurapika’s.

It had taken a lot out of him to go to audition after audition and never get booked while people like Leorio kept hitting home runs. It wasn’t until Melody found him and turned the agency bookers away from masculine, commercial auditions towards more androgynous, editorial work and runways that a flood of castings came his way.

Even now, watching a typical pillar of manly _unruliness_ sweep onto set twenty minutes before their call time, Kurapika found that he still held a kernel of resentment towards guys like Leorio for their part in making him doubt his place in the industry.

“I’ve never worked with this designer before.” Leorio brushed off his chilliness, peering through shoulders and over heads to try and meet his eyes, “I’m looking forward to this shoot.”

“Take a seat, Leorio.” The frazzled makeup artist insisted, shifting her supplied from Kurapika’s vanity to Leorio’s.

“Kurapika, we’re ready for you in Wardrobe.” A strained female voice rose up above the clamor and called their attention.

Kurapika wasn’t in a good mood, and he was looking for someone to blame it on.

“Let’s just hope we can start on time.” Kurapika replied with a sigh, expertly avoiding looking in Leorio’s direction as he stood and turned to follow the production assistant towards Wardrobe.

~

Impossibly, they began on time.

It took every ounce of willpower Kurapika had not to roll his eyes as Leorio swept into the conservatory. He had makeup artists and stylists still trailing behind him, fussing with the folds of his shirt and ensuring his forehead wasn’t shiny as he clasped the photographer’s hand in a firm shake of greeting.

It was typical for a model like him not to be loaded up with makeup and hair gel, getting by on his good physique and the strong lines of his face. It made Kurapika even more annoyed that he actually _looked good_.

The stylist had put Leorio in charcoal slacks and a loudly patterned long sleeve - unbuttoned and billowing open to show off the planes of his chest. His shiny loafers and dangling gold accessories might have had anyone else teetering towards a flamboyant rendition of “The Godfather”, but somehow the cocky tilt of his shoulders and the sincere look on his face retained just enough grace to make it high fashion.

Kurapika quickly turned his attention towards the jungle of palms and wild grasses that lined the path he had been set up on, the toe of his dress shoe tapping absentmindedly against the shining tiles.

He tensed as Leorio strode up to meet him, wafting a pleasant hint of smoky cologne. Kurapika forced his diaphragm to remain relaxed, resisting the barbaric urge he had to suck in a deep breath of the rich, woodsy smell as it breezed past him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Leorio said, a grin in his voice as he planted himself in front of one of the wide palm leaves that drooped towards them.

Kurapika made a small noise in the back of his throat in acknowledgment, watching the assistants position light reflectors behind the photographer.

He could feel Leorio’s sidelong glance, feigning ignorance and watching Melody chat with the production supervisor until setup was complete and he was allowed to fully relax into his cool, calm model shell.

He’d discovered that side of himself even before he’d stepped foot in front of a camera. It was his game face; the shield of composure and poise that had gotten him through every high school debate competition and part-time jobs. It was a mask that made Kurapika feel serious and capable, even if he had no idea what he was doing.

One of his friends in college had seen it while he’d been going toe to toe with a classmate during one of their seminars and begged him to model for her photography portfolio. His agreement was reluctant, but once she had him swathed in silk and too much colorful eyeshadow, the part of him that was hesitant disappeared altogether.

He had felt like a different person under the gel lights and glitter. Someone whose delicacy and severity weren’t in competition. Someone who had to tell a story between one shutter of the camera and the next. He had never indulged in attention, but there was something about modeling that filled him with a smug sense of satisfaction, knowing everyone in the room was watching him.

Once he got a taste of it, he wasn’t satisfied with living any other way.

It was this craving that gnawed at him now - made that much more acute by the domineering energy of the man next to him, each vying for the camera’s full attention.

The two of them moved separately through the motions, the foliage of the gardens framing them under the diffused light of the overcast sky.

It was a beautiful venue, Kurapika had noted that when they’d arrived. The long greenhouse conservatory abutted the city’s botany museum and acres of botanical gardens spread out around them. He had tried to peek into the main-level exhibit on the way in, but the lights had been off and the security guard had given him an intimidating look that had him slinking back towards their designated area.

Being in the greenhouse made up for it, though.

The plants were full and green, soaking up the humid air and whatever autumn sun filtered through the clouds and panes of glass surrounding them. There was the content burbling of a fountain somewhere deeper through the gardens that underscored the clicking of the camera and chatter of the crew around them.

“Have you boys warmed up to each other, yet?” The photographer piped up, “Let’s get friendly. Leorio I want you with your arm around Kurapika’s shoulders.”

“You got it, boss.” Leorio responded, automatically.

Kurapika shifted his weight so their legs could press flat against one another as Leorio sidled up to him. He felt the warmth of Leorio’s arm hovering over his shoulder and glanced over to find it an inch above his sweater.

He turned a curious look up at Leorio who was already watching him expectantly.

“May I?” He wondered.

Kurapika’s eyes swept over his face. He didn’t have a mocking grin plastered on his face or seem to be overtly poking fun, but Kurapika couldn’t bring himself to believe Leorio was being chivalrous.

“That’s what he told you to do, isn’t it?”

Kurpaika wouldn’t be swayed by whatever sly game Leorio was cooking up and forced himself to lean towards him.

“Well, you know,” He could feel Leorio’s shrug and he draped the arm around him, leaning his weight in order to lean, but not crush, Kurapika, “I wouldn’t want to offend your sensibilities.”

He let a breath slip through his teeth and turned back to the camera, attempting to school the glare from his face.

“Kurapika,” The photographer pulled the camera away from his eye, wincing, “A little softer, please.”

He let out another breath to truly get his emotions in check, allowing Leorio’s weight to bear down on him as he shifted closer and allowed his face to return to a serene blankness.

“Kurapika…” Leorio said pensively from where he now folded almost double to rest the side of his head against his shoulder, “That’s an interesting name… Is it Russian?”

Kurapika didn’t want to respond. He wanted to ignore the question and make it to lunch without having to exchange anymore words with Leorio, but now he was being wrapped up from behind. Leorio was tucking his cheek against the long line of Kurapika’s neck and he didn’t think it would be plausible to pretend he didn’t hear.

“No, it’s not Russian.” He said quietly, lifting his ringed hands to rest on Leorio’s forearms, leaning back into the solid stilt of his body.

Leorio hummed in his ear, “Romanian?”

Kurapika’s annoyance couldn’t be encapsulated by the soft hiss he allowed himself to whistle through his teeth, but that’s all he allowed as he looked down the barrel of the camera.

“No.” He replied quickly they shifted again.

“Polish?”

“No.”

They were facing each other now, Leorio towering over him as Kurapika glancing over his shoulder towards the camera, the photographer’s chattering encouragement underscored by the swell of the orchestral album someone had playing through the building’s speakers.

“Am I close?” Leorio wondered.

Kurapika turned his head slowly to look up at him, making the straightened pose seem deliberate.

“You’re pretty close to getting us fired from this job.” Kurapika said, his voice sweet and deadly.

Leorio looked down at him, a light in his eyes and the trace of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

He let it spread to a smile and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Kurapika, if we get fired from this job, I’ll make sure you don’t get any charge-back.”

The severity came naturally to his face. It was one that had put everyone from debate competitors to classmates passing him in the hall off-kilter He fixed it on Leorio and wrapped his fingers around one of the sturdier chains around his neck, giving it a tug so his widened eyes weren’t able to escape the intensity of Kurapika’s wrath.

“If you get us fired from this job,” Kurapika said in a low voice, the threat coming from his chest, “I’ll make you wish your manager never got passed booking you in JCPenny ads.”

He released the chain, stepping back as the photographer and his assistants ushered the other models forward.

“Leorio, can we have you step out for this shot? We’re going to get Menchi and Ponzu in with Kurapika.”

He couldn’t be sure, but before he turned into the eager hands of the makeup artists and stylists, he could have sworn he saw Leorio grin.

~

Kurapika didn’t hate the cold.

In his mind, cozying up to a fire in a cable knit sweater while snow fell outside of the window was one of life’s simple pleasures. He would genuinely enjoy taking a walk through a park in frigid temperatures or walking around the city street with a hot coffee in his hand.

What he did hate, was losing feeling in his fingers on the roof of a botanical garden while posing in a silk shirt and cropped trousers just so this designer could have their spring prints ready a season in advance.

He hoped his lips weren’t turning blue as he wrapped a numb arm around Menchi’s shoulder. She was outfitted in layers of cream and tan, more bundled in her mock-neck and blazer but still shivering under his arm as the frigid November wind stung their faces.

“Can we get Ponzu back in?” The photographer prompted, flicking his fingers in Kurapika’s direction and allowing him to shuffle to the sideline.

He let a chill rake his body, now hidden from the objective lens of the camera. He hunched his shoulders down and wrapped his arms around the icy silk slithering against his skin.

Melody had gone inside to find him a hot drink when he’d sent a pleading look in her direction the minute before, so he simply huddled into himself and waited.

He could hear the snapping of the camera and the crooning of the photographer as he rearranged the girls to stand out against the slate grey skyline.

Kurapika knew they wouldn’t be out here for much longer. They were just waiting for the next set to be decorated back in the conservatory. He chanted positivity to himself as another gust of wind ripped across the roof.

“You make a pretty pathetic sight.” A voice called his attention.

Kurapika felt any excess of his body heat flare in his chest at the sound.

“That’s rich, coming from you.” It was all Kurapika could muster through the chattering of his teeth, not even willing to lift his head to fix Leorio with a glare.

“Here.”

He flinched as a decadent weight settled around his shoulders, reaching up to catch the swath of wool and flannel that enveloped him before it slipped down his back.

Kurapika pulled the coat over his shoulders and used his hands to close it around himself.

He let out a contented sigh, despite himself, and slowly straightened up as his trembling abated.

“Wow, it’s really big on you.” Leorio said, pointing out the way it swept Kurapika’s ankles, “I’m surprised Kurta doesn’t get you into open-calls for the kid’s section.”

Kurapika’s glare was only half-hearted as he rubbed his arms to get his blood flowing again.

“You better watch your mouth, old man. In a couple of years, the only gigs you’re going to be getting are ads for orthopedic insoles and acid reflux medication.”

Kurapika clutched the coat around him, resisting the urge to bury his face in the collar and breathe in the musky cologne until his cheeks stopped stinging.

“I’ll take my coat back.” Leorio threatened, tugging at one of the sleeves.

Kurapika held it tighter, “Just try and take it from me.”

Leorio’s low whistle was carried on the wind, “It’s true what they say – the short ones are the feistiest.”

Kurapika let out a pinched sigh, turning his head to make sure Leorio saw how dead-serious was as he wondered, “Do you ever think before you speak, Leorio?”

“Not when I can help it.” He responded easily.

“I can tell,” Came Kurapika’s reply, his eyes turning to run over the city skyline that punctured the haze of clouds stretching towards the horizon.

Kurapika felt himself thawing under the dark brown wool, squeezing his hands into fists under the too-long sleeves.

Surprisingly, most of the annoyance that had simmered under his skin that morning had slowly melted off of him after some food and the upbeat energy of the photoshoot. He didn’t feel Leorio’s presence nearly as prickly as he had that morning when he was still bleary and feeling put out by his spoiled vacation.

“Some people find it endearing, you know.” He offered, prompting Kurapika to snort.

“I can’t imagine that’s true.” He needled, raising the sleeves of the coat to cup his cheeks and blow warm air through the thick fabric in an attempt to warm his still-frigid fingers. He breathed in the smoke and musk as he blew on them again. It was a nice cologne, he’d have to ask the stylist what it was called.

“Don’t lie to yourself, no one can’t resist my charm.” He felt Leorio’s arm nudging his side, Kurapika prodding back with his own elbow.

“There’s a big difference between charm and self-importance.” He pointed out.

There was something comfortable about exchanging blows with Leorio. Their banter was uncomplicated and oddly therapeutic. A measured dance of insults that made Kurapika forget they were complete strangers.

“Leorio! Can we get you in here for one last shot!” The photographer called.

“Sure, boss!” He replied, swinging his head around to lean close to Kurapika, a cocky tilt to his eyebrows.

“You’ll come around, eventually…” He warned, “I’m impossible to resist.”

Kurapika rolled out his shoulders to disguise the shiver that prickled his spine.

“More like ‘impossible to stand’.” Kurapika huffed, the coat halfway shrugged off before Leorio halted him.

“Keep it. It doesn’t really go with my outfit…”

Kurapika blinked at his already coat-clad back, watching him stride to the edge of the roof and slip in between Ponzu and Menchi. Kurapika noted his hands pause above their shoulders for a moment before receiving their tired, grateful nods of consent. He squeezed the two of them close to him, watching their teeth chatter.

Leorio said something that made them laugh, all three relaxing into a more natural position before the photographer began snapping again.

Kurapika turned towards the stylist who was hovering near him, “Is this coat part of the shoot?”

It was halfway down his arms, brushing the concrete under his feet, the thick brown fabric heavy around his elbows.

The woman peeked at the tag and then up to Leorio, shaking her head, “Hmm… Dior… No that’s his. I think his manager ran down and brought it up for him just now.”

Kurapika hesitated before sliding it back on, realization sinking into him like molasses.

This wasn’t just some accessory thrown at him for this gig. Leorio had offered Kurapika his own coat when he saw him shivering, instead of letting him stubbornly brave the cold.

The woodsy cologne that settled into the soft-worn fabric of the coat wasn’t a nice addition added by the stylist team, it was _Leorio’s_ cologne.

By the time Melody returned with a hot cup of coffee, it was easy to pass off the pink in his cheeks for windburn.

~

Kurapika wasn’t one to dwell on things he couldn’t control.

His mother had been a worrier. She dwelled on everything, especially the things she couldn’t control. Her hands were constantly wringing over the weather, or politics, or the way she’d stumbled over her words in front of the check-out girl.

She was strong in other ways – selfless and caring to a fault – but after years of watching her pull her hair out over all of the things she couldn’t anticipate, Kurapika vowed to focus completely on the present moment.

“Alright, let’s do individuals.” The photographer suggested to the quartet currently lounging across the various wicker chairs and Persian rugs that decorated their new set.

“We’ll start with Kurapika.”

He stood and stretched as the other models meandered off of the set, allowing the hairstylist to comb down the flyaways and rearrange his fringe as he shook out his joints.

When he’d decided to pursue modeling, he hadn’t consulted anyone.

His parents had passed away when he was a teenager, and the lingering dread of being talked down from this opportunity had made him hesitant to confide in anyone. Truthfully, he had _really_ wanted to be a model.

He’d known the risks before he signed with Kurta Agency, buckling down and researching until his desk had was covered with pros and cons lists, editorials, and memoirs from people in the industry.

What he learned was that, despite the unpredictability of this line of work and the warnings that were shouted at all aspiring models from the rooftops, nothing he’d ever done felt half as good as sitting in front of a camera.

It didn’t help that the better he got, the more he loved it, absorbing the energy of the photographer, and melting into the game of shifting limbs and subtle storytelling. He was fine working with others, but he thrived when he knew the lens was only focused on capturing him.

This was when he felt like he’d found his place in the world – where the only thing that was important was the moment between one shutter of the camera and the next.

It was over too quickly, but by the time he stood up, he could feel the exhaustion of the day settling on him.

He stretched an arm over his head after he’d high-fived Menchi in passing, wandering over to the table that held sparse food and drink, grabbing a cup of coffee to give him a final push to the end of the day.

Kurapika found himself ambling away from the shoot, through the winding paths and over to a bed of vibrantly colored flowers he remembered passing that morning. They were every shade of pink and red, growing in clusters up thick stems. He reached out and brushed his hand over the cup of the petals, feeling their living silkiness under his fingertips.

“Want to take one home?” Leorio’s voice wondered, reaching him from down the path.

Kurapika threw a flat look at him, “You can’t just pick the flowers, idiot.”

Leorio’s hands were tucked into the pockets of his linen pants as he wandered closer.

“Not with that attitude.” He snickered, leaning close to take a deep breath from the middle of the bunch, releasing it in a long sigh.

Kurapika leaned forward and took a much daintier smell, their perfume bold and full in his nose.

“Oh,” Leorio said as he leaned against the wrought iron fence that lined the path to keep patrons from stomping through the flower beds, “I heard your manager talking about that Nostrade campaign at the end of December, you’re pretty lucky to have gotten a big-name gig like that.”

Leorio sipped at the paper cup he held in his hand, presumably also supplying him with a final burst of caffeine before they crashed at the end of the shoot.

“Ha, ha, _lucky me_.” Kurapika mocked, turning back to look out at the flowers swaying in the artificial breeze, “You’re probably thinking they brought me on because the designer has a _thing_ for Kurta models.”

Kurapika had developed his own suspicions that morning when Melody had told him they wanted to book him without an audition.

“No,” Leorio said simply, “I’m thinking they brought you on because you’re gorgeous.”

Kurapika could feel the blush the moment it sprung to life at the base of this throat, crawling up his neck and across his chest along with a jerk that snapped his head to look at the side of Leorio’s unbothered face.

Kurapika did what came naturally when Leorio was in his general vicinity – he lifted his foot and gave him a strong kick to the back of the knee, watching his leg buckle and his, thankfully, empty cup jump out of his hand as he steadied himself on the fence.

The flailing recovery gave Kurapika a minute to collect himself and allow his shocked blush to mellow into a heat flush, the humidity of the conservatory gathering a line of sweat down his back.

“Hey!” Leorio whined as he straightened back up, checking the back of his knee to make sure Kurapika’s boot didn’t leave any marks on his pants, “What was that about?”

“You can’t flirt with your coworkers,” Kurapika asserted, turning back towards the garden, “It’s not professional.”

He crossed his arms for effect, eyes roaming over the slowly swaying palm leaves and flower stems as Leorio bent down to pick up his discarded paper cup.

“So you’re saying I have to wait until after we’ve clocked out to ask you to dinner?”

His blush glowed so intensely he almost wished they were back on the roof.

 _Almost_.

Instead, Kurapika stacked his walls up again, his heart recovering from its embarrassing hitch and his composure ignoring the blotches of heat burning on his skin.

“I’m saying you can’t ask me to dinner, _period_.”

“Aww, why not?” Leorio whined, using his grip on the fence to swing closer to Kurapika, “It’s not like we work at the same agency or anything.”

“But we work in the same industry,” Kurapika bristled, turning to follow the path back towards the shoot, “We’ll probably be on shoots together afterward.”

“Are you counting on not having a good time?”

He could feel the grin in his words as Leorio dogged after him, his long legs having no trouble keeping up with Kurapika’s stroll.

He chose not to reply, deciding to watch the passing foliage and letting his thumb work on rolling out the lip of his empty paper cup.

“Come on,” Leorio urged, skittering into his line of sight, “I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

Kurapika lifted a taunting eyebrow at him, “Oh so you’re a model _and_ an actor?”

Leorio’s hand shot up to thump against his chest, “Ouch, Kurapika…” He pressed his fist over her heard, “That one hurt.”

Kurapika rolled his eyes and wound around the next bend, the chatter of the shoot floating towards them, “You’re not going to convince me.”

He could feel Leorio watching him and refused to meet his intense gaze, worried he might actually give in if he did.

“Fine,” Leorio burst, walking close enough that their arms brushed, “But at least give me your number so we can stay in touch.”

Kurapika chose to ignore him again.

“Come on, Kurapika, it’s called networking.”

“You can follow me on Instagram.” Kurapika offered.

“That’s so impersonal, you punk! Don’t be cold.” Leorio griped.

Kurapika slowed his pace as they returned to the stone courtyard, Ponzu in the middle of her individual shots and the rest of the crew fanned out a distance away from them. He paused and made sure no one was within earshot.

“Alright, fine, you can get it from Melody before you go,” He ignored the grin splitting Leorio’s face, “But I’m _not_ going to be answering any of your sloppy drunk texts. And don’t call me if you’re looking for help moving.”

He turned to cross the court and return to Melody.

“How could I ask you to soil your hands with manual labor? What would your manicurist think?” Leorio called from behind him, “And besides, I don’t send sloppy drunk texts…”

~

The shoot wrapped as the autumn evening was drawing to a close.

The security guard led Kurapika and Melody through the eery museum so they could take the exit closest to the parking lot.

Kurapika tried not to look too interested in the shadowed rooms they passed, but it was a different security guard from that morning and he wasn’t afraid of his curiosity getting him kicked out anymore.

He was tired and exhausted, but he still took an extra moment to read the information plaque in the main hall that alerted him to the “thousands of plant species housed both on the 25 acres of outdoor gardens and within the historical glasshouse structure” not to mention their library jam-packed with volumes of plant taxonomy and floral illustrations.

Kurapika followed along when the security guard gave an unimpressed sigh, catching up as he ushered Melody out of the door.

He pulled his coat tightly around his middle, grateful he’d pulled on a warm turtleneck and boots that morning as the air bit through his pants.

“So…” Melody began, alerting Kurapika to the direction of their conversation pre-emptively, “I was approached with an interesting request at the end of the day.”

Kurapika rolled his eyes, “Sorry, I forgot to warn you.”

“No, it wasn’t that… You just don’t normally give your number out.” She pointed out hesitantly.

Kurapika turned to find her too-innocent face pointedly looking anywhere but him.

“It’s not like that!” Kurapika defended, “He would have pestered me for the rest of the shoot if I hadn’t agreed.”

Melody raised her hands in surrender as they came to a stop at the car, the keys jangling in her hand, “I wasn’t assuming anything.”

Her voice was soothing and non-accusatory, but Kurapika knew she thought he was lying.

“I’m serious, Melody,” He grumbled, rounding the car to pull open the passenger door, “I swear he would have tracked me down some other way if I hadn’t-“

“KURAPIKA!” A yell echoed through the parking lot, calling his attention away from his excuses.

He squinted at the entrance of the museum, finding a crop of dark hair bobbing through the crew’s cars and jogging towards him.

Leorio waved a hand at him, one side of his dark brown coat flapping as he approached.

Kurapika shut the passenger door and stepped forward to intercept him before he did something ridiculous like climb in the backseat and demand they get takeout and talk about their childhoods.

“What do you want?” Kurapika snapped, fully aware that Melody was watching their proceedings through the front windshield as she warmed the car up.

Leorio slowed and came to stand in front of Kurapika, catching his breath with a finger raised.

Kurapika watched the way he clutched the front flap of his coat, speculating the likelihood of him pulling a knife and trying to cut a lock of his hair as a souvenir.

In one swift motion, Leorio straightened up and revealed what he had been smuggling under his coat – a stem clustered with the pink flowers they’d stood in front of, the single stalk bunched with five or six of them in full bloom.

“They might be a little crushed,” He said in apology, “I had to sneak them passed the security guard.”

Kurapika’s stared at the flower, dumbfounded.

Leorio was extending it to him, but his arms wouldn’t move to accept it.

“You stole that.” Kurapika gaped, at last.

Leorio peeked over his shoulder as though Kurapika had reminded him of the illicit act. He took a step closer and pressed the flowers to his chest, prompting Kurapika’s numb fingers to rise up and cradle it.

“I know, that’s why you have to hide it until you get in the car.” He urged, kept his eyes on the entrance as he turned Kurapika’s shocked body around by the shoulders to steer him back to the passenger door.

He allowed Leorio to guide him back to the car, watching him pop the door open between them, Kurapika’s feet automatically propelling him inside.

The flower lay gently on his lap, eyes fixed in dumbfounded confusion at Leorio’s mischievous smile.

“Take good care of it,” Leorio nodded towards the flower, “It’s the last thing I’m going to steal for you.”

With a courteous wave at Melody in the driver’s seat, Leorio shut the door and allowed them to drive away.

They drove in silence as Kurapika blinked out of the windshield.

He chanced a look back down at the cluster of flowers in his lap, slowly coming to terms with the fact that it had been real.

He lifted it to his nose and breathed in the lush scent.

Maybe it hadn’t been a bad day, after all.


End file.
